Pure Iron
by victarionspenis
Summary: Asha wanted an alliance with Victarion, and an alliance was what she would have - in the form of marriage. The iron in their veins would sing in their steel as Euron's schemes force the two wedded krakens onto stranger tides.
1. Euron

**Chapter I: Euron**

He had paced for some time when he had heard the news. Truly, the idea intrigued him to no end. He had not expected such cunning from Asha; that, he respected. _So, she has learned something from me. _

Euron brought a goblet of rich red vintage wine to his pale blue lips and swallowed deeply of the drink, savouring the sour tang upon his tongue. The notion of marriage that Asha proposed was delicious, that was undeniable - but the fact that Victarion had agreed to it was something that had managed to surprise him. He had heard the news from one of his creatures, whom had quite the wandering ears. It was said that Victarion had gone as hard as a rock when Asha spoke of the deal.

Euron snorted at the thought. _My brother, the devout man. Ever-faithful to Balon, and the Drowned. I wonder – what will dear Balon-beyond-the-grave think of Victarion fucking his daughter?_

He knew that this would shift the odds at the Kingsmoot. Asha and Victarion would be one entity, with both scores of their supporters braying for them. _It will matter little, of course_. Euron smirked as he sipped at his wine.

"My Lord," a watery voice drew him from his thoughts. "The Maester has arrived."  
"About time!" Euron chuckled. "See him in,"

Through the entrance stepped a tall old man with a booming gait. He had deep brown eyes and long, waist-length grey locks. A ponderous goatee sprung from his chin, still strangely thick despite his apparent age. A Maester's chain dangled about his neck, with several links of iron, two of silver, and most prominently, four of Valyrian steel, glimmering in the orange hue of the candlelight.

"My Lord of Greyjoy," He began, giving a stiff bow. His black woollen robes billowed out around him. "An honour. How may I serve?"  
"I have a number of tasks for you," Euron replied, setting the almost empty goblet of wine down on the oaken table beside him. "First and foremost, send my warm regards to my brother and my niece on their engagement." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair he sat upon, grinning as madly as he pleased.  
"Of course, my Lord," He nodded, his face remaining stoic. The Maester studied Euron's features, as if he was searching for an answer to some unknown question.  
"… on the subject of Asha…" Euron's tone was thoughtful. "I want her watched, carefully. If she is planning something, I wish to hear of it before she has time to put it to action." Euron motioned for a mute thrall to pour out more wine for him. "Set your mice free to hide in the cracks of the walls."  
"Consider it done." He shifted on his feet, drawing a small scroll from his sleeves. "I have the information you had requested prior, my Lord."  
"Ah, excellent," He took the piece of rolled parchment as it was handed to him, unfurling it and analysing the contents.

For a few moments, he was silent. Scrawled upon it in black ink was a series of glyphs, formed into what appeared to be instructions. Any common man would not know the meaning of the scratches, but to Euron, it was exactly what he needed. Euron raised the wine goblet once more and drank from it, his grin growing. "Very good, Maester Dorian. You have my thanks. Now, if you would, set to work on what we have discussed."  
"At once," Dorian replied, bowing deeply. "Do I have your leave?"  
"Aye, go."

The exchange was short, but it was all he needed for now. No doubt, by the sun's early light, Dorian's network would be at work tracing his dear Niece's movements. And by then, Euron would have made ready his plan to present the very thing that would win him the Seasone Chair and the Driftwood Crown.

_None can deny a legend. None can deny my power_. Draining the contents of his wine, he drew the mute serving thrall girl into his lap. She was perhaps sixteen, with jaw-length brown hair and sharp brown eyes. There was a flash of fear in her eyes, which brought a twinge of stiffness to his cock. He reached up, gently stroking her freckled cheek. She was the kind of mute with a tongue, but no voice to speak. She blushed profusely, fumbling with the laces on her bodice. She already knew what he wanted.

It did not take long for her to be completely naked with her back upon the table. It seemed she was willing, even though she was scared. She was wet when he slowly slid the head of his cock into her. "Ah, a maiden…" he mumbled, feeling the obstruction. "How lovely you are. You'll have my bastard quicken in your womb, sweetling." Euron cooed, as he took her maidenhead. She would have screamed, had she been able to. Instead, her mouth opened wide in a silent yelp of pain. His thrusts were rough, but after the pain had subsided, she seemed to enjoy herself. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure when he kneaded the soft flesh of her plentiful breasts. A fine specimen she was indeed, with an hourglass shape and bountiful thighs. He took one large pink nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. She drew in a shuddery breath, digging her nails into the wood of the table. _I'll keep this one_.

She was virgin tight, and it made it all the sweeter. He knew he would not last overlong with the way her muscles moulded to his cock. Euron leaned in, his blue lips at her ear. "You shall be all mine, girl. When I plant my seed inside you, this is my mark upon your body. You will give yourself to no other man. You will live to serve me, to please me." Euron whispered, rolling his hips as he thrust. He knew that his words were slithering into her mind as she nodded very eagerly.

Eventually, he spilled his seed inside her with a growl of pleasure, his fingers pressed hard into her waist. She lay panting with a vacant expression and misty eyes. "Clean me off," He ordered with a grin. The girl sat up quickly, a sheen of sweat over her body, and took him into her mouth, lapping her juices and the excess of his seed from him with an excited vigour. When she had finished, she dressed, and he bid her off.

_Such a wonderful game is afoot_. Euron mused as he slid into his featherbed, naked. A breeze rolled in through the skirts of the tent, tickling his hot skin. _Asha, Asha, Asha… I begin to respect you more and more, my sweet girl_.

He remembered the young girl tossing knives at a door and running about the training yard, swinging practice axes and lunging to the sound of Victarion's booming voice. The combat training had fallen to Victarion and Dagmer Cleftjaw, but it was with he that Asha learnt to poison, to sneak, and to steal. She had valued the lessons, but not his presence. It made him chuckle to recall the way she'd squirm and try to distance herself from him, especially during the years after her flowering. His smiling eye would fall upon her – or rather, that which lay beneath the layers of leather and cloth. Euron knew that he frightened her, and suspected that he still did. It was no secret that more than once he had relieved himself thinking of her, of blessing her lips with the salt of his loins.

_She would be vastly stupid not to be cautious_. Euron closed his bright blue eye, and breathed in the cool sea air. _After all. Who would not fear a God?_

He slept to the sound of the waves upon the shore, with dreams of the Kingsmoot and the victory he would have; but most vividly and prominently, dreams of Asha and her wedding.

_You'll learn of his ill-luck with wives. And with me_.


	2. Asha

**Chapter II: Asha**

Asha had awoken long before the sun had. The sky still remained dappled with stars, cold wind rolling the waves onto the shore. In truth, her sleep was only a light one; the Kingsmoot loomed so nearly, and not far off, her marriage as well. She was slumped at a rough yew table, a mug of half-drained mead clutched in her fist. Asha gazed blankly at the battered copper, watching the distorted reflection of her eyes look back at her.

Slowly, she brought it to her lips and drank the remainder of the hot mead. It slid down her throat and settled thickly in her stomach. Normally, she would take joy in it. But even now, Asha Greyjoy was anxious, and it only made her feel sick_. Liquid courage, come now_.

She knew it would do her no good to dwell on her doubts. _You must have conviction when you speak; be sure of every word you say, even the lies, and believe it._ It was Euron's voice that rung in her ears, one of the many lessons he had taught her in her youth. The Crow's Eye had imparted knowledge of poison, of theft and stealth, and of speechcraft onto her. Her tongue had turned to silver with his aid.

_I forget that, sometimes. I learned from him. He knows all of my tricks_. The realization pulled a cold shiver through her spine.

Asha pushed herself up off the stool, heaving a sigh. A golden trim crept from beneath the cracks in the entrance, indicating the bringing of dawn. She rose a shout, a young lass of twelve stumbling in.

"Draw a bath," Asha ordered, pulling her battered old boots off. "Make it scalding, girl, or I'll give you to Damphair."

She had returned within minutes, clasping buckets of steaming water. She poured them out into the wooden tub with some effort, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead from the heat of it. Asha sent her away, stripped off and moved into the tub. She scrubbed clean and washed her hair, rubbing foul smelling liquid through it to remove the grease.

When she was done, she dried herself off and brought a comb through her cropped black locks. With each stroke, she winced. Asha did not realize just how windswept it had been. To wear, she chose a white cotton shirt, leather doublet inlaid with a golden kraken, tan trousers and black knee high boots. Finally, she donned a black cloak fastened with iron kraken pins, and declared herself ready. For a moment, Asha wondered if she should sup first, but quickly dismissed the idea. Any food she had would not sit well in her stomach.

Asha strode out into the dawn. The air was crisp, and the waves crashed hard upon the shore. By most standards, it was a pleasant morning. She counted down the hours, the minutes, the seconds. _Why am I so bloody nervous?_ Asha thought, frowning as she walked. _Nuncle wouldn't be_.

Nuncle. She would have to stop calling him that. _Lord Husband doesn't sound far better_. Asha sighed, weaving around a large boulder. Then again, she couldn't really imagine calling him much else. In a strange way, it brought and excited shiver through her. There was something pleasantly…_ naughty_ about it.

She smirked, allowing a lewd thought to creep into her head; whispering 'Nuncle' into his ear as she stroked him through the breeches. _Soon enough._ Asha blinked, wondering why those words echoed in her mind.

In truth, Asha was not sure where exactly it was that she was going. The Kingsmoot would not come to order until the sun had come to a quarter across the sky. She stopped when she reached the junction between solid stone and soft white sand. She walked down onto the beach, tempted to take her boots off to feel the soft grains between her toes. It was familiar, and comforting.

Her cloak whipped behind her in the wind as she approached the sea. She watched the blue-green ocean creep towards her, the sea foam racing along like animals lighter than air. Asha smiled out at the horizon. The sky was painted with soft gold and peach pink, clouds streaking upwards from the beyond like white sunbursts.

She remembered the shores of Pyke, where she and Theon used to play as children. They'd run along the sand and swim in the sea, and build castles. The two liked to explore the caves, sometimes spend a whole day there, and return mussed and grimy from climbing and squeezing through the rocks. Rodrik and Maron would never join in, of course. They were like Balon in most every way. They preferred to sit in on his counsel, or work in the training yard. All in all, they were serious boys – but Mar would sometimes steal sweetmeats from the larder and share them, and Rod would always smile, ruffle her hair, and say "Good morning,"

Sometimes, Asha found herself missing them. Despite their overall stoic nature, they were still her brothers. Once, there had been four young krakens scurrying about Pyke. And then there were two – that had lasted but a day. After then, she was alone. The last Greyjoy child, with all the pressures it entailed. Asha had cried herself to sleep for many nights; cried, out of loneliness, grief, stress and anger.

"Niece."

Asha bristled as the sound tore her from her thoughts, but the tension soon dispersed. She relaxed as she recognized Victarion's voice. She had not heard him approach – normally, the clanking of his plate would have given it away. She turned to look at him as he strode to stand beside her. What she saw made her breath hitch in her throat.

In place of his regular armour, he wore only an unlaced shirt, brown cotton breeches, and rough old boots. She could see the coarse hair on his muscled chest. Silvery scars dashed in many sections across the skin. Victarion's long salt-and-pepper locks whipped around in the breeze. He was silhouetted by the gold of the sun. In that moment, he looked like some kind of handsome, wrathful God. _My Nuncle. Mine own war-God among these mere men_. _Could any other ever match up to him? He has slain more foes in his life than any person I have ever met..._

"Asha…?" Victarion sounded puzzled. It was only then that she realized that she was staring.  
She cleared her throat and looked away briskly. "Nuncle, good morning. Is there something you need?"  
"Nay," He replied. "I was walking, and saw you. I wondered what you were doing."  
"Watching the sea, if t'was not obvious," Asha chuckled, trying to keep her eyes from slithering back to his broad chest.  
He was awkwardly silent for a moment. "Of the Kingsmoot…"  
"All will be well." Asha sounded more confident than she felt. "We shouldn't speak of it."  
"We should," He growled. "I-"  
"Our claim is strong. They cannot dispute it."  
"The-"  
"I am Balon's daughter, and you his second – and brother. To deny that would be to blatantly reject exact succession."

Victarion seized her arm and pulled her to his chest, growling. His fingers dug hard into the layers of her clothes. She could feel it on her skin. Asha wondered for a moment what he was doing, until his lips crashed onto hers. Her eyes widened as he kissed her hungrily, his other arm wrapping around her waist and locking her in place. Asha was too stunned to move, to kiss him back. She would have gawked, were he not devouring her lips.

After a few moments, he almost hesitantly pulled away. "It takes that much to bloody well shut you up." He grumbled. His voice was thick with what Asha swore was lust. "Do not speak over me."  
"Would you rather I be moaning under you?" She blurted.

_Where the fuck did that come from?_ Asha blinked. Victarion stared at her, shock in his eyes. Asha's suspicions were confirmed as she felt his cock start to stiffen against her thigh. _He wants me_. She realized. The thought excited her far more than it should have.

"You…" Victarion paused.  
"Shh." On a whim, Asha ground her hips against his. "… just… kiss me again." _He's to be my husband. I might as well get used to it… the feel of his lips, of his manhood... I wanted it as a teenager. That bloody girlish crush I had on him. I… want it again now._

And he did, his lips taking away all the thoughts inside her head.


	3. Victarion

Chapter III: Victarion

_This is all madness_, thought Victarion, _and surely, the Drowned God will strike me down for it_. Yet, even as he stood among the captains and lords alike assembled beneath Nagga's ribs, he could not tear his eyes from Asha. She stood not far from him, cross-armed and smirking behind old Rodrik the Reader. He wondered how it was that she could remain so calm, so aloof, when just before they had kissed in the light of the morning sun. Absently, Victarion raised a plated gauntlet to his mouth, as though the ghost of her kiss still lingered there. She had such soft lips, where her eyes were sharp enough to drive a man away. She was lithe and thin, yet the curves she had were mesmerising to behold. His gaze flickered down to trace the small of her back, and lower still... it rose an unnatural hunger in him.

_She is your Niece_. Part of him growled. _And she is also to be your wife, _added another.

The Lord Captain was snapped forth from his reverie when a hand clapped his pauldron. He turned his head to glower down at the owner of the hand that had so crudely seen fit to rattle his plate. For half a heartbeat, he expected the Crow's Eye to be grinning up at him; but to his relief, it seemed to only be one of Asha's supporters, wishing him well. It took him a moment to think on just how many more voices would be added to his – _their_ – claim. _I may yet become King_. The realisation was a shock, but a pleasant one nonetheless.

Victarion wondered just how it would be, and what it would be like to become a monarch. Balon had been made for ruling. It came naturally to him, as it would to an elder son of iron. Victarion, though… that was a different story. In truth, the prospect of ruling had always unnerved him. Victarion was the perfect soldier – obedient, disciplined, and unmatched in combat. He was built like a bull, with all the strength of one, too. He hadn't the brains nor the patience for court and paperwork… but as the time arose, so would he, to the challenge of it. Euron could not be King. Even he was smart enough to know that it would not end well – for the family, for the Islands, and perhaps even the whole of Westeros.

He turned his attention to his brother, the Damphair, Aeron. Most blessed, he was. Victarion found himself wondering exactly what Aeron thought of this match_. He shan't cross it, I know. But it births suspicion and disdain within him_. He remembered Aeron's judging black eyes as he informed him of the engagement.

"We were born from the sea, and to the sea we shall return," Aeron's voice was low, and quiet. Men quelled their tongues to hear his words. "T'was the Storm God, in his great and terrible wrath, that cast Balon from the bridge. Now, take solace, ye assembled, for he now feasts beneath the waves in the Drowned God's halls, attended by mermaids." He cleared his throat, casting a long gaze around the congregation. "Balon is passed! The iron king, dead!"

"He is dead!" Chanted Aeron's Drowned Men. "Dead!"

"Aye! And what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder, and stronger." Aeron bowed his head, his voice solemn in his preaching. "Balon is dead and gone from us, we mortal beings. But a new iron king shall rise, to claim the Seastone Chair and hold dominion over the isles."

"Rise, aye! A King shall rise!" They replied. "He shall rise!"

Just ahead of him, he heard his wife-to-be snort, as if it were some joke only she was privy to. _Brash woman_. Victarion chided in his mind. _There is still the chance of defeat_. It was a grim prospect, but there still. Somehow, though, he found her confidence to be refreshing. _She is young still_. Asha always had more boldness about her than sense_. Like I had been, once_.

"He shall, he must!" Aeron's voice had become louder, commanding all to listen, to hang upon each word he spoke. He had that gift, at least. That influence as the Damphair. "Tell me, brothers – who should it be, to sit in Balon's place? Who shall rule? Is he amidst our ranks? Tell me – who shall be our KING?!"

Silence fell. _Silence_. He hated that, too. It was as red and cutting as the image of the Crow's Eye's longship, sailing into the light of the risen moon of a night. He waited; it was ill-luck to be the first to volunteer, and Victarion would make no slight of such an important moment.

"We must have a king." Aeron persisted, a frown beginning to mar his features. "I call once more upon ye – are there none who would be King?"

One man rose to the call; if rose was the word to use. Erik 'the Anvilbreaker' had not broken any anvils for decades, at least. He was an old and frail man, seated in a chair with wheels. He had to be pushed onto the dais by one of his men. Whispers and quiet japes broke out amidst the crowd as the Lord clutched his ancestral hammer tightly in his lap. He may have been strong once, but now, it seemed as though he would break a bone trying to crack open a walnut.

"Where is it said, that a kraken must be our king?" He bellowed, his voice high and sandpapery. He argued and shouted rancorously for a minute or two, before Asha's sharp laughter cut him off mid-sentence. Dozens of eyes turned to look upon her, in some was wrought confusion, whilst others seemed intrigued.

"I shall shout your name, Erik, louder than all the rest," Asha barked, crossing her arms against her chest and issuing a challenging stare. "If you can but stand from your chair..."

Erik glowered at her incredulously, gripping the arms of his wheeled chair and straining with all his might to rise. His face went red with effort, barely managing to lift his weight off the seat, before he collapsed, panting and defeated. Asha's laughter rang out again and the crowed joined her, a mocking slap to the shamed contender as he was wheeled down from the dais and out of sight.

Victarion remained as silent as death, his gaze unmoved from the back of Asha's head. He could not help a swell of pride for her within his chest, the smallest of smiles twitching at the corners of his mouth.

It seemed that she had felt him staring, as she turned around and met his gaze, that wicked grin upon her face. She moved away from her two loyal men – Tris Botley, and that suspicious Qarl the Maid – and made her way to his side. He felt her fingers curl through his. The gesture was oddly comforting; and he found himself remembering when she had stood no taller than his waist and liked to hold his hand and lead him around.

"Nuncle," She purred her greeting, as bold and confident as ever.

Victarion winced. _Why must she call me that?_ "… Asha."

"Nervous, are you?" Asha perked a brow. Any other would have taken her tone for mockery, but Victarion knew better. "You needn't be. We will win. Peace and glory shall be one."

Victarion frowned at that. He wanted to believe her, and the sureness in her tone inspired some glimmer of hope within him, yet his doubt was still unshakeable. Euron seemed to be better at everything, no matter how vehemently Victarion denied it to himself. The Crow's Eye had always been favoured by their Mother. He was sweet, and charming, and could do no wrong. But he was manipulative, always. He had her wrapped around his little finger, though Quellon saw through it all. Nothing ever impressed that old man. But they were long dead now, and there was no use thinking back on them.

Finally, he answered. "We mustn't get ahead of ourselves. The crowd may favour another."

"They may," She admitted with a small shrug. "Though they would be fools to do so. You and I both know that the Captains care little for these petty minor lords," She eyed off the next man to step up to the front, a bemused smirk playing at her lips. _Those beautiful, consuming lips_… "They wait for the true show. The krakens. They have word of our betrothal… and await our proposals with baited breath,"

"Caution," He warned gruffly. "It may be as you say, though we mustn't underestimate-"

"Ahh, always worry with you. I am quite aware of what we _mustn't_ do… but that's quite gone to the wind, hasn't it?" Pointedly, her hand slipped from his to subtly rest on his outer thigh.

It sent a jolt of lightning through him, his spine going rigid and his jaw clenching. The smallest of touches was like fire. Briefly, Victarion wondered how he would react to more than a simple lewd gesture. His thoughts were swept away as Asha began to move once more, with himself tugged along in her wake. It seemed that she, at last, deemed it time for them to make their move. Two men had spoken thus far, the second droning on and on, boring the crowd so fiercely that only one or two of his bannermen raised a shout.

Victarion hear the blood rush to his ears and feel his heart leap to his throat. His mouth was dry and his palms began to sweat, even as Asha strode beside him, with not a single hint of nerves upon her features. _How is it that she is so calm? Is she truly so assured? _But as his gaze travelled downwards, despite her wolfish smirk, he noticed her hands trembling. His expression softened, then. Victarion had to admire her strength. If anything, his niece truly was iron. The fearless were fools. Fear drove men to survive.

They stood upon the dais, his blue eyes scanning the crowd. Some faces he knew, others were strangers, peering up at them curiously. Lining the stairs were Tristifer Botley and Qarl the Maid on Asha's side, and on Victarion's, his first mate and his strongest oarsman. He tossed his qualms to the wind and steeled his face, looking proud and fierce in his gleaming silver plate. One hand fell to rest upon the hilt of the axe sheathed at his waist, his chin angled proudly.

Asha began the address, silken and sharp at the same time. "My Lords, as I am sure you have heard, I am betrothed!" She chuckled a bit at that. "At last, at last, some would say. I am to wed my Nuncle, your Lord Captain, Victarion Greyjoy." She turned her eyes to him, and oddly, he saw warmth there. "And the only true and rightful King. Would you allow pretenders upon your throne? Nay! House Greyjoy has ruled over these Islands for hundreds of years! My ancestor, the Grey King, slew Nagga, the great sea dragon, under whose bones we now assemble!" A few cries of 'hear, hear' rang out. Unphased, Asha continued. "Alone, I would call for peace. Alone, my Nuncle would call for glory. Now, united, we may call for both. Peace for our people, and prosperity, and in such, we shall restore out Islands. Glory through success. As the North starves and dies in its frigid wastelands, young and old alike perishing in the cold Winter to come, we shall survive! We shall thrive, and live on!"

The crowd roared its agreement, several men thumping their swords against their shields in great thunderous applause. Asha spoke with such passion that Victarion could feel his toes curl within his boots. She gave a high-pitched whistle, and five chests worth of spoils were brought out. The first was opened and the contents tossed out.

Toppling along the rocky ground were small brown pinecones. "Here are your spoils from the North! Your conquests bring _these_ fine jewels!" The next was opened, baring more worthless offerings. "Would you have these for your winnings? Spill your blood for_ naught but pinecones and sticks_?"

"Nay! Nay!"

It was his turn to speak. "Crown us," He barked to the near riotous crowd. "Crown us for peace, for glory!" The final three chests were open, spilling gold and silver, and some precious jewels. "If you would see the wealth of the Iron Islands restored, our power and prosperity the _envy _of the Greenlands, shout Victarion, King! Asha, Queen!"

The crowd roared its approval, some of the men stumbling and shoving to get to the goods. "VICTARION, KING!" They roared. Nagga's bones almost seemed to shake with the noise. "ASHA, QUEEN! QUEEN ASHA! KING VICTARION!"

It lasted for some minutes, the approval and the calls for their crowning, and Victarion allowed himself a shred of pride and relief. The noise alone brought him some hope that such a mad scheme may yet work. He turned to glance at Asha, whom looked to be quite pleased with herself. Her grin was infectious enough to spread onto his own face. Quietly, he took her hand in his, and pulled her to his chest. He remembered when she had been only as tall as his hip, and her hand could only fit around one finger. Still, they were nowhere near as big as his. In return, Asha rested her head upon his breastplate, staring up at him. Her whole face seemed to light up. Victarion wanted to laugh out loud, to pick her up and spin her around and kiss her right on the mouth. The Moot almost seemed won. _Genius little kraken_. He mused, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. _You are exceptionally cunning, for one so young_.

Yet, as ever, his reverie would not last long. A great, ear-splitting horn blast quelled the booming crowd. Men groaned in pain, doubling over and covering their ears. Victarion felt as though his skin was on fire, the hair on the back of his neck standing at end. Asha pulled back from him, gritting her teeth against the noise. After what felt like an eternity, it finally stopped. For a moment, Victarion thought himself to be dead.

The crowd parted, and stalking forth from the shadows came the Crow's Eye, a black cloak billowing in his wake. Out of the corner of his eye, Victarion spotted the Damphair clutching his driftwood staff and baring his teeth.

Euron clapped slowly as he ascended the stairs. "My, my, my… what a _show_ the two of you make." He purred, his cold blue gaze giving them a sweeping glance. "Asha, little minx," Euron reached out with a gloved hand, twisting a lock of the woman's short hair around his finger. Quick as a snake, she slapped him away, growling. "Oho… furious as the sea, my dear. You were smart to seek a match with my dear brother, niece… mmm, and the sheer _depravity_ of it is… delicious. Are you as fiery in bed as you are now?"

Qarl the Maid looked livid. The blonde man grasped his sword, the scrape of steel against leather heard as he saw to draw it. Tris Botley's reaction was not far different, shaking with anger. Euron's creatures shot them both looks, daring them to strike out. With a short shake of the head from Asha, the two men remained motionless. Their loyalty was unwavering, if anything.

Euron smirked at Victarion, then turned to address the crowd. "All well and good that you should shout the names of my brother and my niece. Their union is favourable, I shall grant…" There was laughter in his voice. That terrible, mocking tone that made Victarion want to drive his mailed fist into Euron's face. "They shall be wed blood to blood, as the Targaryens were," He continued. "Targaryens… they had _dragons_. I tell you now, men of the Iron Islands, dragons have come again to the world. I have seen it..."

"You are mad," Asha snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "There are no dragons. They died with the Doom."

A chuckle escaped Euron's pale blue lips. "My sweet Asha, they are quite alive. Three of them, in fact, and three heads had the Targaryen sigil…" Euron inclined his head to the great twisting red horn that had been brought up to the dais. It was inscribed with golden Valyrian glyphs. "With this, my great hellhorn, I can bind the dragons to my will. I know the location of them, and their keeper. So I say, crown me, Euron Crow's Eye, as your King, and I shall give you riches…"

Many chests were opened, and the innards spilled upon the ground. Gold, and fur, jewels and ornaments, glittering and terrible. A mighty roar was raised as men scrambled and shoved to grab as much of the spoils as they could fit into their grimy pockets_. Cravens_. Victarion wanted to shout. _Euron's gifts are poisoned_.

"… I shall give you lands! Conquest! I shall give you the WORLD!"

"_EURON, KING! KING EURON! KING! EURON! CROW'S EYE_!"

They had lost, Victarion knew. Only precious few of their loyal supporters remained silent. Sheer, cold dread filled him from head to toe.

They had named Euron King.


	4. The New King

Chapter IV: Euron

Euron wasted no time in gloating of his victory at the Kingsmoot. The dread upon Victarion's face and the wrath on Asha's was infinitely satisfying. His little niece had looked fit to leap at him and wring his neck. Instead, she stormed out, her cloak billowing with the sharp gusts of wind. Victarion slunk off, too, in a different direction from his betrothed. Aeron was the most horrified of them all, yet he did well to hide it behind a mask of indifference. His coronation would take place three days hence, back on Pyke, at the turn of the new moon and the waves were highest, as custom dictated. He was met with praise and reverence, as the congregation moved down from Nagga's bones on the high cliff to the tents set up for the accompanying feasts. Wine and song flowed freely, and eight fine courses of rich foods were served by the thralls. The crisp evening winds occasionally slipped through the flaps of the pavilions, but not once had he seen his fellow krakens. Aeron was likely out praying, as Euron suspected, and the other two… he wondered.

Quietly, he slipped away from the merriment, unnoticed. Most of the men were passed out, finger dancing, or fondling the serving wenches. He took to the night seamlessly, just another shadow among the rest. He stalked along, listening out for the familiar voices. It was not long until the Crow's Eye heard them, tucked away behind a cluster of rocks.

"… it doesn't matter anymore," Asha growled. "We lost, that's it. We call it off."

"Aye…" Victarion mumbled. "A smart plan, niece, if we had won, t'would have been done flawlessly."

"That vile lecher." She said, pacing on the spot. She looked positively livid. It brought a smirk to Euron's face to see her as murderous as she was. "I would cut his throat."

"I have dreamed of it," Victarion agreed. "Many times."

"I must go." Asha said, suddenly. "Flee this place. I cannot stay, nuncle, and I am sure you would not miss me."

"Flee?" Euron piped, chuckling. He stepped into the light of the moon. His eyes followed Asha's hand as it leaped to grip the hilt of her axe, her lips drawn back into a snarl. "Oho… I think not…" The Crow's Eye cocked his head to the side. "You would call off your betrothal? Ah… and the two of you make such a perfect match… one as furious as the other. Together, a tempest, aye," Euron crooned. "How would that make you look before the Lords? Cravens, surely. You had announced the pact publically, in sight of Gods and men… it cannot be broken now."

"Hang that," Asha snapped. "Marriages are broken oft,"

"Hang you, more like," Euron replied. "If you are so keen to escape…"

Her lip curled. "You wretched creature." Hissed Asha. "Draw your steel, I shall take what is rightfully mine, and spill your blood all the same."

"You would meet the Drowned long before you even saw my steel drawn, girl."

"None is more accursed than the kinslayer…" Victarion warned, almost hesitantly. Euron knew that his brother detested him. But that did not matter now. He would hate him far more if he knew what was good for him. Victarion was so pitifully superstitious. He'd stub his toe in a door and think it to be a warning from the Drowned God not to go in the room. _Fool_.

"Tell that to Euron." Asha retorted. "He murdered my Father. Your brother. Pushed him off the bridge in a storm."

Euron smirked. She'd picked up that much, at least, but it hadn't been Euron to do the deed. He'd hired a Faceless Man to push Balon_. Clever girl_. The King mused. _A sharp tongue, and a sharp mind. My dear niece, I know why it is the oaf desires you_. "You would do well not to throw such accusations without proof, my sweet girl." Euron continued. "But I am not here to speak of myself… the two of you shall be wed. I am King, and I command it so."

Asha's stare was incredulous. Euron wondered what she was thinking, underneath it all. He would have to take the time to find out… it did quite intrigue him. There was no hiding Asha's prior actions towards Victarion, and to her own brother. He had seen it play on Asha's mind once or twice, when he had turned his Crow's Eye upon her – the thrill she felt in fooling her little brother, the amusement… and the arousal. Theon's hands had been all over her body, and a twisted part of her had enjoyed it. _After my own heart, truly_… Euron remembered Aeron's silent sobs; the scream of the rusted hinges as Euron pushed open the door at night to stalk inside…

Euron grabbed Asha by the hair quicker than she could react and threw her forward into Victarion's arms. As expected, the bull of a man caught her before she could fall. The Crow's Eye watched silently as his brother – for the slightest of moments – cradled her against his chest. It would be a lie if one said that Asha's obvious wantings of the man were unrequited. Euron's mice had told him of how the Lord Captain's eyes would eagerly trace her movements, fall to her backside, or linger on her lips. Asha was the only person he would embrace tenderly. He wanted to know when exactly it was that Victarion began to slip; he was aware that the two had fought battles side-by-side and back-to-back... had it been then that Victarion began to see her as something... more? It would not be difficult to find out. Simple minds were always the easiest to see in to.

"Do not deny that you wish to wed. In some secret part of you." Purred Euron, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "On the morrow, you will join. On this, most holy Old Wyk… with all the Lords to see you."

Victarion this time turned his glare upon him. Asha seemed to realize that she was being coddled, and squirmed out of Victarion's grasp, the smallest bit of red colouring her cheeks. "Now, brother, you ought to skulk back to your tent for the night, hm? I'd have a word with Asha."

The larger man had no reply, only a hateful stare. He looked to Asha once more, clearly reluctant to leave her alone in Euron's company. The woman gave him a short nod, and without a word, Victarion cleared off. _Loyal as a dog_.

"What do you want?" She asked, her tone flat. "Is this a game to you?"

"Life is a game. Power is a game." Euron replied simply. "And your petty little business is rather amusing to meddle with. You made a monumental and risky declaration, niece. Marriage. Did you truly believe you would escape the repercussions?"

"I had thought to be gone by now."

_But sentiment made you linger_. He knew that. She could not leave without seeing Victarion a last time. "Even if you had run. I would have found you, and brought you back. Mayhaps even taken you for a salt wife…" He whispered, his tongue darting out to wet his bruised blue lips.

Asha's sharp nose crinkled in disgust. "I would rather be dead."

"Then be thankful it is my brother you are marrying." Euron shrugged. "Of course, if I wanted you, it would not matter if you were gone, or wed…" His smiling eye flickered an eerie blue in the darkness. He had much in store for the two of them, and it would begin after they were joined. It was only a matter of time. "Did you truly think that you would win the Kingsmoot, girl?"

"Our claim was indisputable." Asha growled, shoving roughly past him and striding forth into the night. Her wrath radiated from her in waves. "… fools, the lot of them. They've doomed us all."

"Doom, mayhaps," Euron laughed, trailing behind her. "Or brought about a golden age of power…"

"Power falls easily." She scowled, quickening her pace, eager to be away from him.

Just as well that she tried; a hunger was growing within Euron, and her saunter-sway drew his interest. He would have to find the mute thrall lass again. Her cunny had been nice and tight, and her body eager. It made his loins ache to think on. _Hells. I'll have more than just one of them._ He had won the Kingsmoot. It was high time for him to celebrate it – with many comely wenches, and rivers of wine enough to drown in. And when he collapsed that night, panting and spent, he would feel the true fullness of triumph.

"We shall see, sweetling. We shall see." The King's voice was husky now. "Sleep well, Asha… you shall need all your strength for the night to come. I do not expect Victarion shall be gentle with you..."

He saw her bristle, and heard a short, sharp intake of breath. _You are so terrible at hiding your desire_. Euron chuckled, parting away from his niece and heading towards the great feast pavilion once more. It was all his, now. His plans would eventually come to fruition. All there was left to do was wait… and enjoy the chaos.


End file.
